


Like The Tide That Ebbs and Flows, Memories Will Come and Go

by Bittodeath



Series: SpideyPool Monthly Challenge [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Dancing, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Infinity Gems, Love, M/M, Mild Smut, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roaring Twenties, Scars, Speakeasies, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittodeath/pseuds/Bittodeath
Summary: During a battle against Thanos, Deadpool grabs the Time Stone, and Spider-Man grabs Deadpool. They find themselves stranded during the Roaring Twenties, with no way to go back, and only each other to lean on.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: SpideyPool Monthly Challenge [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1524911
Comments: 5
Kudos: 137





	Like The Tide That Ebbs and Flows, Memories Will Come and Go

**Author's Note:**

> This got way more angsty than planned.
> 
> It's my fic for the SpideyPool Monthly Challenge, with the prompts Dance, Scars and Bath.

Deadpool sheathed his katanas and started to run as he screamed to get Spidey’s attention. The hero’s head snapped to him and he immediately dropped in position, squatting with his hands intertwined and cupped in front of him. Wade took a step in his hands and Spidey launched him into the air, hard enough that Wade’s ear-drums popped from the sudden pressure. He barely made it in time, but his fingers still closed around the Time Stone. Thanos growled, his sausage fingers grazing him as he fell, and then he felt Spidey’s web hitting his back and savagely yanking his back. His spine arched unnaturally with a loud crack and he nearly threw up from the pain – but then he landed right into Spider-Man’s arms, bridal style, and it was definitely worth it. He looked at his fingers tightly curled around the green stone just as it flashed.

“Oh-oh. That cannot be good”, he said as the light spread.

There was a flash of light, and then- nothing.

*

Peter was first hit by the smell – it ranked of fish and sweat – and then by the pain he felt in his arms. His eyes blinked open and he saw a clear blue sky, which he really didn’t expect. Very slowly, his spine buzzing like he’d been hit by lightning, he sat up and palped his face. He still had his mask on, and it was still soaked with blood where Thanos had almost scalped him, his blade biting into the stretched skin over his skull and making it bleed heavily. He looked down at his forearms, which were hurting far more, and hastily yanked his mask up to throw up at the sight. It looked like he was badly burnt, the flesh seared off and screaming in pain. The spandex was nowhere to be found, and yet he couldn’t remember being burnt at any point. There had only been-

“What the fuck are you doing here, lad?” a voice barked and Peter jumped in surprise – why his spider-sense hadn’t reacted?!

Only, it had, he realized as he looked around, his heart hammering in his chest. He was just in too much pain to register the warning buzz. His eyes swam as he staggered, momentarily blinded by the pain. Thankfully, someone grabbed his shoulders and stabilized him.

“Damn, I don’t know where you’ve come from but your arms are bad, son.”

His eyes focused again and he frowned, taking in the suspenders on the guy’s white wife-beater, and his moustache from another time. He was keeping him upright, but there was pity in his eyes.

“What is going on here?” a loud voice asked, and Peter nearly collapsed from the relief as he recognized the voice.  
“Deadpool”, he breathed, turning to see the merc’s red uniform – only to stop dead in his tracks.

The man who was standing there, shell-shocked, wasn’t Deadpool. Or maybe it was? He had the right build – tall and muscular – but his face was on display, bald head barely hidden under some sort of old-time cap. And it was covered in scars, criss-crossing over his nose, his cheekbones, his cheeks, his chin, his forehead, everywhere, not a patch untouched. Yeah, Deadpool had scars too, that was why he wore the mask, Peter remembered. But Deadpool wore a uniform that was a mix of Kevlar reinforced spandex and leather, and quite a number of weapons, and this man… didn’t. This man wore a three-piece suit, blood red with black lapels and black buttons, a patterned waistcoat, and a black, red-rimmed bow-tie.

“Spidey?” he asked, obviously shocked, and yeah, that was definitely Deadpool’s voice.  
“Deadpool?” Peter asked, frowning, his arms itching and hurting like crazy.  
“OH MY GOD YOU’RE HERE”, the man yelped, running up to him and sliding an arm around his waist to keep him upright. “Don’t worry, Spidey, I’ll take good care of you”, he added as Peter’s head swam again. “Webs?”  
“I- I don’t feel so good”, Peter managed to say before emptying his stomach again on the docks, since it was apparently where they were, and everything faded away to a blissful, silent darkness.

*

Peter came to in a darkish bedroom, the kind that has flimsy curtains drawn over the sun-flooded windows. He was feeling a lot better, though his arms still ached, but they had been bandaged and he could feel the itch of his healing factor working hard to make it better. Sure, enhanced healing was great, but no one told you about the maddening itching. He knew better than to scratch, though. Slowly, he sat up and looked around through the lenses of his mask – at least, he still had that. The room was small and looked like it had known better days, and the rickety metal-framed bed was… about as comfortable as his own, which was to say not at all.

The door opened and he jerked in surprise, though he felt no threat as a young woman stepped in, holding a pile of clothes. She beamed at him, but quickly averted her eyes.

“Hello sir! I’m sorry, I had no idea you’d be awake. The Boss will be pleased. I’ve brought fresh clothes for you, do you need anything else?”

He looked down at his naked torso, flushing when he realized he no longer had his suit on.

“No, thank you”, he replied.  
“I’ll be waiting outside to take you to him, then”, she said with a nod, setting the clothes on a nearby, threadbare chair before retreating.

He stood up, testing his strength and balance, satisfied to find it back to normal – even though his stomach growled with hunger and his arms were still heavily bandaged. The clothes were… weird, but it was very far from being the weirdest thing he’d ever seen. He shook off the white shirt, that had… well, something about it bothered him, but he couldn’t pin-point it. He shrugged it on anyway, careful with his bandages and thankful for the short sleeves, and pulled on the slacks that stopped mid-calf, tucking the shirt in when they appeared to be a little too big. Suspenders clattered to the ground when he grabbed the short socks, but he was thankful for them as even with the shirt in, the trousers were too large and would probably pool to his ankles if he wasn’t holding it all the time. He put on the shoes, and snorted.

“Well I guess I’m ready for a re-enaction of _Titanic_ ”, he said to no one before opening the door.

The girl was still there, and she rose an eyebrow when he stepped out.

“The mask will attract attention, you know.”  
“I’d rather keep it on”, Peter replied, and she shrugged, guiding him towards an open door down the very short corridor.

It was a living-room, with two over-stuffed armchairs and windows looking out on the docks. A man was sitting there – a man’s whose bald, scarred scalp he’d recognize anywhere. He turned his head and smiled.

“Spidey! Glad to see you awake. Take a sit, Ruth will be bringing some food to tide you over until dinner shortly. I’m sure you have lots of questions.”  
“Deadpool? What’s going on?” Peter asked, sitting down into the other armchair.  
“What do you remember?” Deadpool – because it really was him, even dressed… the way he was, apparently comfortable with his bare face.  
“We were fighting against Thanos for the Stones and you grabbed the Time Stone. I received you, there was a flash of light, and next thing I know I’m throwing up over some docks.”

Deadpool nodded, his face turning serious.

“Same as me, then… except not exactly. Webs, we’ve been stranded through time by the Stone. I’m relieved to see you here, at least we weren’t thrown too far apart.”  
“Stranded through… You’re taking this awfully well”, Peter replied, feeling his palm grow clammy at the notion. “Where are we?”  
“Same place as before: Brooklyn, New York.”  
“Okay… When are we, then?”  
“21st June, 1923”, Deadpool answered. “Welcome to the Roaring Twenties.”  
“O-Okay, okay”, Peter replied, his hands shaking slightly. “We’re nearly a century back, that’s fine.”  
“Honestly? Yeah, it could have been worse. We’re not _too far_ back. And now that you’re here, I’m starting to think we actually have a chance of seeing the Time Stone again. It’s the only way back we have.”  
“We’re stuck here”, Peter breathed, before looking at Deadpool’s calm expression. “…How long have you been there, DP?”  
“Close to four years, now”, the man answered, and Peter sucked in a breath. “It wasn’t easy at first, I’ll admit, but I’ve adapted just fine. As you see me, I’ve built an empire better than Al Capone’s”, he grinned.

Peter closed his eyes and thought for a moment. There was no saying how long he’d remain stranded here. Perhaps his whole life. He couldn’t keep the mask on forever, and right now, Deadpool was his only ally.

“Please tell me I won’t regret this”, he whispered, pulling off the mask.  
“Well, hello there”, Deadpool cooed. “My god, you’re awfully cute, Webs. Even better than I hoped.”  
“It’s Peter. Please, tell me everything I need to know”, Peter said after Ruth had left, bringing in a tray laden with food.

And Deadpool did.

*

Peter stared back at his reflection, and at the raised scars on his forearms. His healing factor had done its best, but now the skin was gnarly, not unlike Wade’s. He’d been there for a month, and he couldn’t deny that he’d gotten used to the life they led. Wade, like many others, had taken advantage of the Prohibition and become a bootlegger. He was especially successful and the poster boy of the self-made man. He was now at the head of a powerful – if illegal – organization, and Peter hadn’t liked it at first, before he discovered how involved Wade was in the life in town. It was only thanks to him and his work that the streets were as safe as they were. Everyone was scared and awed at “Deadpool”, the man running speakeasies, who had survived World War One with his share of scars. And so, Wade went bare-faced, because here, now, it was a matter of pride.

Peter sighed, letting his arm drop down. While Wade had safe-houses all over New York, he actually lived in an old-money manor that suited the lifestyle he affected to live. And of course, Peter lived there too, amidst the golden trinkets and heavy fabrics, attending parties and feeling awfully out of place. Their safe-place was the hidden room between their bedrooms, a place no one could go to. There, Peter had a desk he used as a “lab”, and their suits and anachronic belongings were stashed in a wardrobe. There also was a worn-out couch, and a television Peter had built during the first week, when he felt like he was going insane. Which was no use, because there was nothing airing yet.

“Peter?” Wade’s voice asked through the door.  
“Come in, I’m about ready”, Peter answered as he grabbed a loose shirt.

Wade did, and immediately noticed the way he’d been staring at his scarred arms.

“Do they still hurt?”  
“No… They’re just sensitive, that’s all”, Peter replied, and smiled gently. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Wade snorted and grabbed his arm, fingers trailing gently against the melted skin. Peter shivered at the contact. Before, Deadpool had been handsy, but since the masks were off, he had sort of… withdrawn. Peter had tried to ignore the attraction at first, but as time passed, mostly in each other’s company, it was getting harder to. He looked up to meet Wade’s blue eyes – piercing eyes, that also made his reputation, along with the “immortal” nickname he’d gained over time. Scars shifted on his skin, but it was a slow enough process that hardly anyone noticed. You had to be very familiar with the man for that… and it did something to Peter to be some of the few who knew about the ever changing scars.

“You know what? I don’t feel like going. That Gatsby is a prick anyway, and I’m getting tired of their parties. It’s awful how nothing has changed… back in our time, Stark parties are just the same.”  
“Don’t bad mouth Tony”, Peter chided him. “He hates those things just as much as you do. But… Yeah. Can we really not go?”

Wade snorted.

“Watch me”, he replied. “How about this: dinner for two in the garden, some music, and no one to tell us what to do.”

Peter let the shirt he’d been holding fall down and nodded, a shiver running up his spine when he caught Wade’s intense gaze trained on him. Very gently, Wade took his hand, fingers smoothing over his, and brought it to his lips. Peter shivered and took in a sharp breath, his body singing with the chaste contact. It was so unlike Deadpool, and yet… Peter had known for a long time there was more to Wade than what he let on, but ever since they’d gotten stranded in the twenties, he was really discovering the extent of what Wade hid behind crude jokes and bouts of madness.

And he liked it. He liked it very much.

Emboldened by his reaction, Wade trailed his fingers up his arms, to his neck, fingers clasping his jaw in a warm grip. He loomed closer, so tall and broad and warm, his lips slowly descending on his.

“Stop me now, Pete, ‘cause I won’t stop on my own. I’ve wanted this for far too long.”

Peter didn’t stop him, parting his lips slightly when he met Wade’s mouth and welcoming the kiss, soft and brimming with repressed feelings, searing his skin and heating his blood into something frightening. They broke away with a gasp, and Peter flattened his palm on Wade’s chest.

“We shouldn’t”, he whispered.  
“Why not?”  
“Because it’s the Twenties, and stoned to death is not how I want to go down”, Peter replied.  
“That’s not a pleasant death”, Wade recognized. “I can handle a rejection, you know.”  
“I’m not rejecting you, Wade. I don’t want to reject you. I’ve… liked you for a long time now. But I can’t bear to build something here and now, and have no idea when it’ll be taken from me… If we were to go back tomorrow, would you still want this?”  
“Sweetums, I’ve wanted this for years. Believe me, there’s no way I’m letting you go, time travel or not.” He grinned. “Alright, change of plan then. Put that shirt on, I’m taking you somewhere.”

It was dark outside and Peter had no idea where they were. It wasn’t a very safe neighbourhood, too, but that didn’t really worry him. Wade paused by a large poster encouraging the Prohibition, looked around and slid his fingers under it, revealing a door hidden there. He ushered Peter inside the dark corridor, up to a door. He knocked in a very specific rhythm and the little panel at eye-height slid open.

“Password?”  
“I picked a daisy, but my darling wanted nothing but lilies”, Wade replied.

The panel slid shut and they heard locks and bolts turning, before the door opened.

“Welcome to _Sebastian’s Arrow_ ”, the guy behind the door said. “Oh, boss! I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you!”  
“That’s alright, I’d rather we’re safe than sorry”, Wade replied with a beaming grin. “C’mon, baby boy.”  
“We’re in one of your speakeasies?” Peter asked as they left their jackets and hats in the room they were in, before going to a heavy curtain shutting the door.  
“We’re in _the_ speakeasy. My most secure one, and thriving”, Wade answered, pulling the curtain open. “Welcome to the one and only gay club of New York.”

The speakeasy was all glitter and gold, lavish curtains, sparkling glasses and colours glimmering everywhere. It was too much and yet there was a warmth to the place that Peter recognized as purely Wade. This place was just like the merc – brash, arrogant, shining metals and barbed jokes – and Peter loved it. They took a seat in a corner, Peter taking it all in as they sipped on moonshine glasses, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to even buzz them mildly. They dined amongst the music and chatter, and for once Wade let his hand wander to Peter’s thigh, staying there, welcome, as they ate.

“C’mon”, Wade said after a moment, standing up and pulling Peter with him.

He led them to the dancefloor where couples were already dancing, flashy suit with flashy suit, flapper dress with newsboy attire. Wade’s suit and his weren’t even amongst the flashiest ones, and yet they drew eyes – perhaps because for the first time in a month, they were truly themselves. Peter’s suit had made him laugh when he’d seen it the first time: it was blue, with red buttons, lapels and pockets, and the waistcoat under it was red with a black web-pattern imitating his hero suit. His shirt was white and lined with black, standing out from the colours of his suit. Wade’s suit was black at first sight, but when the light hit it, the fabric shimmered red, and his waistcoat was in the same fabric, but the light was showing the incredibly thin red and white lines criss-crossing over it. His shirt was a plain black, and somehow this peculiar suit reminded Peter of the patterns of his scars.

Wade pulled him close and settled a hand on his waist, the other wrapping around his fingers, and they started to dance. Wade’s eyes were trained on him, their intense focus making him feel both calm and restless, and he couldn’t look away, completely hypnotized. It was slow, just like the soft song playing, and made Peter’s heart beat faster as he felt Wade’s warmth against him, the firm yet gentle grip of his hand, and the slow sashay of his hips. As more time passed, Peter felt himself grow hot and he was pretty sure his face was flushed a pure red. The dancing had turned even slower and lascivious, and while it had nothing to compare with modern clubs, it very much felt like making love. Clothed and standing-up, sure, but the intimacy was here, and the emotions. And the hard-ons, because he was pretty sure that wasn’t a gun pressing against his hip, and it definitely wasn’t one that he desperately wanted to hide in his pants. The slow, gentle friction was nowhere near enough, but it made him tighten his fingers as the rest of his body both wound taut and relaxed, letting go of all worries as he got closer to his climax.

His legs and arms trembling from the exertion, he pulled away slightly and broke the eye contact, his breath quick and short.

“Wade, if we go on like this I’m going to have an embarrassing accident”, he confessed in a low voice, so that only his… what were they? Not just friends, that was sure – so that only _Wade_ heard him.

Wade hummed, his lips pressing against his hair.

“As lovely as that sound, I don’t want anyone else to see you like this”, he replied in a low, deep voice that betrayed his arousal and made Peter shiver as it creeped up his spine.

Very gently, Wade seized his chin and tilted his head up, bringing their lips together again. Even though his lips remained close, the soft, gentle movements were enough to turn Peter’s limbs to jelly as he gasped lightly against his mouth.

“Oh, Petey, you have no idea what you do to me”, Wade whispered, his lips traveling from his mouth to his cheek and to his ear.

And he stepped away, and Peter felt like he’d just fallen into icy water. Wade was still holding onto him, but it felt like he was too far and like Peter couldn’t breathe. Had the music stopped? He didn’t know.

“Shall we go home, sweet-cheeks?” Wade asked, rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of Peter’s hand.  
“Yes”, Peter nodded.

They crossed the speakeasy to get to the curtain, hand in hand, and took their jackets. Crossing back to the dark alleys and badly lit streets felt like stepping out of a dream and into a nightmare. Peter finally let of Wade’s hand but they walked close on to another. Peter’s head snapped up suddenly when he recognized a cry of pain and the sound of a scuffle.

“What is it, Petey-pie?” Wade asked, serious once again. “What did you hear?”  
“A child’s taking a beating”, he replied, already jogging in the direction of the cry.

Wade cursed and followed him, bemoaning their lack of any equipment. Peter guided him without any problem to the fight: they could hear the childish voice calling loudly. All children, he realized, though some sounded older than the others. He turned at the corner of an alley and paused. A small, thin, sickly blonde boy was standing with a bloody nose and a split lip, holding on tight to a trash lid. Next to him, and slightly in front, was another boy. He was taller and bigger, with dark hair and a practiced boxer’s stance, but he was going to have a black eye and there was a bloody gash on his cheek. They couldn’t be older than six, and he really wondered what they were doing outside at this hour. Trapping them in the alley where three boys ranging from eight to fourteen, and Peter was impressed that they had managed to hold their own against kids bigger and older.

“I’m not afraid of you! You’re just pathetic bullies!” the blonde boy cried out, holding the trashcan lid like a shield.  
“Well, this one’s got some guts”, Wade chuckled next to him. “He’s gonna take a beating if we do nothing, but I like his spirit.”

Peter chuckled too.

“Yeah. He reminds me of Cap’.”  
“Now that you say it… Alright. Hello kiddos. How about y’all scamper back to your moms’ skirts, uh? Only cowards fight three on two, especially two that are not the same size.”  
“It’s Deadpool!” one kid cried out when he turned to look at them.  
“Run!”

They scattered like a flock of sparrows, leaving the two young kids behind. The blonde one let the lid fall with a clatter, just as the other one turned to face him with a scowl.

“Auntie’s going to scold us! Why did you have to step in like that?”  
“I don’t like bullies.”

The taller kid sighed, and turned back to them.

“Thank you, Mister Deadpool. We’d have taken a beating if you hadn’t intervened.”  
“That was brave of you. Not smart, mind you, but very brave”, Wade replied, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and crouching to dab at the blood on the smaller kid’s face. “What are you two doing out at this hour anyway? C’mon, I’m taking you back home. Your parents must be worried sick.”  
“Steve brought dinner to his mother”, the taller kid explained while Peter took a look at the gash on his cheek. “She’s having a long shift at the hospital. Mom sent me with him because Steve is always getting in trouble. Like now.”

Peter chuckled at that.

“Where do you live? We’ll bring you back.”  
“Don’t bother, it’s only a few blocks down!”  
“Kiddo, it’s pitch black and you’re both hurt. We’re not leaving you out there”, Peter said.

The child sighed.

“Alright. Steve is staying at my house anyway. I’m James Barnes, by the way!” he said, holding out his hand to shake Peter’s.

Peter was glad for the dark shrouding his features because he was sure he’d made a funny face.

“Peter. And this big oaf here is Wade.”  
“Everybody knows Deadpool”, Steve replied, grinning despite his split lip. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

The boys didn’t live far indeed, and Mrs. Barnes was very relieved to see them come back, even though they were late and in bad shape. She thanked Wade and Peter profusely, who made it back home quite stunned.

“Did we just help kid Captain America and the Winter Soldier?” Peter said at last.  
“They’re even cuter than I thought!” Wade squealed. “We gotta tell them when we’re back home.”

Peter paused and looked at Wade, a soft look on his face. He reached out, cupping Wade’s scarred cheek in his hand. Wade nuzzled into his palm, smiling shyly, but his expression quickly morphed into one of pained confusion.

“Pete? Peter I’m feeling really weird. I’m feeling-”

There was a flash of green light coming from the inside of Wade’s chest, and when Peter opened his eyes, he was gone. He looked around, his heart beating madly, but he couldn’t see the merc anywhere.

“Wade? Wade where are you? Wade it’s not funny! Please!”

*

Wade opened his eyes slowly, his head pounding. Dr. Banner was looming over him, a serious expression on his face.

“You’re not the one I want to see”, he rasped, and Bruce chuckled.  
“Yeah, he’s back alright. You know you gave us quite a fright? Grabbing an Infinity Stone like that, with your bare hands… You were lucky you’re immortal and  
Spider-Man grabbed you soon enough to share its power, otherwise you’d still me cosmic dust trying to bring itself back together.”

“Where’s Spidey?” Wade asked, tasting ash in his mouth as he tried to sit up.  
“Still down and a little worse for the wear, but his vitals are normal. However I believe there are question pertaining to your… unusual attire”, Dr. Banner said.

Wade finally noticed he didn’t have his mask, because he was still wearing his evening suit.

“How did we come back?”  
“You accidentally got the Time Stone fused in your chest during your first jump”, a stern voice answered, and Dr. Strange walked in, holding said Stone in his gloved hand. “But it landed here separately. Now please tell us where you were and for how long.”  
“Not until I’ve seen Webs”, Wade answered, climbing down the examination table and landing on shaking knees.

He climbed back to his feet, and opened the curtain next to him. Peter was resting there… only it wasn’t _his_ Peter. This Peter looked older – like, years older – and had grey streaks in his hair. His face was sunken and, when Wade pulled the blanket back a bit, he noticed how his boy was only skin and bones. And he wore a hospital gown that accentuated how emaciated he was. An IV was linked to his arm, feeding him nutrients.

“God, baby boy, what the hell happened to you?” he whispered, brushing longish hair out of Peter’s face.  
“That’s what I’d like to know”, a deep voice answered, and Wade’s eyes snapped up to meet Captain America’s ice-blue eyes. “You’ve seen his face before?”  
“He was younger”, Wade replied, his voice breaking. “Younger, and healthier. Why is he wearing these hospital rags, anyway?”  
“Because Steve threw a fit when he saw what Peter was wearing”, Tony answered, stepping through the open curtain.

Steve grit his teeth and looked up.

“I’ve seen enough of them that they make me sick to the stomach. Did you burn that thing down, Tony?”  
“After running analysis and taking samples, yeah, I did”, Tony replied. “I didn’t like having it any more than you did. Deadpool, tell us what you know. We’re trying to piece this back together, but nothing makes sense.”

And so Wade told them. About the years he spent stranded in the twenties in the wake of World War One. About the blissful month where Peter had joined him. About meeting children Steve and Bucky and the sudden dizziness and pain before he woke up there. He was just finishing when Peter took in a deeper breath, and his eyes blinked open.

“If this is death, it really sucks”, he said after a moment of staring at the white ceiling.  
“You’re not dead, Petey”, Wade answered immediately, taking his fragile hand in his.

Bruce appeared just then, Stephen at his side, and once Peter had drank some water and been propped up on fluffy pillows, he started to tell them what had happened in a wary tone. He told them about waking up on the docks, and Wade being there. He told them about the month he spent in the Roaring Twenties. He told them about Wade’s sudden disappearance, and how the scars on his arms had glowed and sent blistering pain down his veins. He told them of his frantic search for Wade, before he finally came to the conclusion that Wade was back in their time, months later. He didn’t linger much on the following years of the twenties, his eyes avoiding them, but Wade had the feeling this was important. Then came the Great Depression, and everything fell apart once more. He told them about the Existential Dread he’d faced as he saw Hitler’s mounting power, wondering if there was something he could do.

He told them about moving to Germany and helping as many of his fellow Jews escape the country, and even Europe altogether. How he kept at it, the increasing lack of food weakening him more and more – until he got caught. He didn’t say much about Dachau or how he survived, but next to him, Steve had his teeth clenched so tight Wade could hear them grit. He ended up in November 1934, when his scars shone once more and pain engulfed him.

Captain America left brusquely, startling everyone, as a heavy silence settled. Tony told them briefly that thanks to them, Thanos had been beaten before he could execute his plan. It was a mercy – a small one, but a mercy nonetheless. Bruce left, and then Tony. Only remained Wade and Strange, the doctor seemingly deep in thought.

“Peter”, he finally said, “there is nothing to be done for the things you lived through and the memories you have. But I can…” He gulped. “I can use the Stone to give you back your lost years. Bring you back to your youth and health. Only if you want to, though.”

Peter closed his eyes and nodded.

“Do it. There is still a lot I have to do here.”

Wade had to step aside and let go of Peter’s hand as the Sorcerer used the Stone, and he watched with rapt attention as he turned back time. Peter’s body filled out, scars disappeared, white and grey hair turned back to brown, wrinkles smoothed over. Soon, it was the Peter he had known in the twenties – yet Strange kept on turning. Not much, but this Peter was definitely a bit younger than he’d been when they met. Perhaps twenty or twenty-one, when he’d easily been twenty-five the first time Wade saw his face. The scars on his arms were still there, though.

Strange must have sensed the question, because he put the Stone back in his necklace and stared back at Peter.

“These scars are due to the Stone’s energy. They can’t be suppressed. Deadpool must have some matching ones where the energy passed from his body to yours.”  
“Good luck spotting them”, Wade grunted.  
“I’d say they’re a good thing”, the Sorcerer retorted. “These scars are… like anchors between the two of you. They’re what tugged Peter into the Twenties after you instead of him getting lost in, I don’t know, the middle of Civil War? And they’re what brought him back here, at the same time as you. Without this, he would have been lost in time.”

Peter hummed.

“Almost sounds like a soul-bond.”  
“Soulmate-scars, time travel, friends-to-lovers, 140k, SpideyPool”, Wade replied.

Peter casted him a fond and exasperated look, and started to get out of bed. He looked uneasy, as if he was reacquainting himself with his body, which was probably the case. Wade reached out for him, but Peter shook his head.

“Please, Wade. I need a moment. I-” His voice broke. “You were gone, and I thought I’d never see you again.”

Wade pulled back. He could understand no wanting company when he broke down. After all, he wasn’t anything if not the same.

*

Peter had been staying at Avengers Tower for two months since he woke up in that hospital bed. The toll everything had taken on him was… well. He was still gathering his pieces, screaming himself hoarse at night and waking up in panicked sobs that left him exhausted. Steve and Bucky’s experience, so much like his own, helped him. The shrink also did, if Wade was to believe him.

They’d taken to resume their dating, though it was slower than it had been on their first and last date, and Wade wasn’t afraid to say he was in love. Thoroughly, completely in love. Not that Peter made his own affection a secret, but he was more… reserved. Even more than he’d been in the Twenties. Sometimes, Wade caught how his eyes lingered on his own hands, how he flexed his fingers, as if surprised by how they worked and their appearance. How he jumped at some specific sounds, or some sights – Hawkeye had once triggered a bad panic attack, simply because he wore a long dark leather coat, and Wade himself had learnt not to scuff his rangers in a very specific way, with the right foot dragging slightly.

But those were the changes Wade observed because he knew Spider-Man. Peter had stayed two weeks in the Tower before he needed to swing too badly to stay put. And no one had any idea what had happened, because he and Wade had barely disappeared for two days. It was really not enough for the general public to worry. So Peter had resumed being Spider-Man and it was almost completely the same – except the times the hero intervened on Neo-Nazis. Then, the beatings were particularly rough and quip-less, done in silence, murderous rage only held back by Peter’s own conscience. Not that Deadpool minded the murder-part, but he seriously worried about Peter’s psychic state.

With time, Wade also learnt about the time between his sudden departure and Peter’s move to Germany. About the pure debauchery Peter indulged into, and the string of lovers who had tried to etch themselves into his skin like he had, but none had managed, leaving Peter feeling empty and hollow in a time that wasn’t his own, with no one to talk to. And it was easy to feel how Peter was afraid of what he’d become – what Wade’s absence, of all things, had driven him to become. Nothing but time and patience would overcome that, and Wade was stubborn.

After two months, though, Peter thought himself ready to go back to his life. To his small, humid little apartment that made Stark’s eyes bulge out when he saw it – but Peter didn’t want any kind of charity, and being relocated to a better place apparently counted at that in his eyes. Wade wasn’t exactly happy with it either, but he knew better than to oppose Peter head front. That was a losing battle. Instead, he took every opportunity to get his boyfriend to his own newly refurbished home – or rather, the very best he owned, his safe-places no more than dirty and unsanitary hellholes – where he could live decently. Slowly, Peter was getting used to be there, though he rarely spent the night, and when he did, he slept on the couch, adamant about it. He could have shared Wade’s bed, he knew the merc respected his new boundaries – apparently, the shit-show in his head had seriously impacted his libido, leaving him struggling with near-impotence at such a young age, and with Wade’s own self-confidence issues, and especially his still quite-bad body-image, it was issue they’d both rather not press. Still, he was only there when Wade himself was there – which was why Wade hadn’t expected him to be taking a hot shower when he came back from a SHIELD mission, leading to their current predicament.

Music had been blaring from a speaker in the bathroom when Wade had stomped into his apartment, dropping his bag and shoes, the remains of his suit barely holding together over his large frame. That should have been a hint – a punch-in-your-face king of hint, but a hint nonetheless – but Wade’s death had been particularly painful and his regeneration had the boxes nothing but screaming in his head, and if that wasn’t enough, it had also triggered quite a set of visual and auditory hallucination. It was enough to make him consider dying again, just for a moment of peace.

So yeah, he had barged into the bathroom and Peter had screamed in terror, jumping instinctively and sticking to the ceiling, accidentally taking the showerhead with him, the traitorous thing spraying water directly onto his face and into his horror-scream opened mouth. The boxes instantly quieted, just as surprised, and Wade blinked up at the smooth expanse of unmarred skin, at the lithe body and tightly coiled muscles holding Peter up.

“Oh my _god_ Wade NEVER DO THAT AGAIN”, the spider yelled dropping back into the bathtub. “You gave me a fright!”  
“I saw that.”

Peter cut off the water and appeared from behind the curtain, and Wade couldn’t help but stare at his naked boyfriend. How many times had he dreamed about that, and yet the reality paled in the face of fantasy.

“Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation?”  
“Uh?”  
“I was just getting started and there’s no use wasting hot water, so remove that poor excuse of a suit and come in.”

That… wasn’t what he had been expecting. Not at all. Wade blinked, looking up from Peter’s – really, really long – legs to his eyes, shivering at the smouldering look in his eyes.

“C’mon, I’m getting cold in there. Hurry up!”

_To hell with it_ , Wade thought as he scrambled to tear off the remains of his suit. Today had been a shitty day so far, it could hardly get worse but it would _definitely_ get better. He stepped into the bathtub and closed the lope-sided curtain that had known better days, looming without meaning to. His skin still felt raw and sore from the healing, very sensitive, and he hissed when the hot water hit his chest, where Peter had directed it. Peter’s brown hair was two shades darker and sticking to his head ridiculously, the usually fluffy mop now flat and pitiful.

Very gently, Peter pulled him into his arms and guided Wade’s head to rest on his shoulder, even though it meant the merc had to bend at an awkward angle. With the water running on his skin and the new presence of Peter’s smooth, naked skin, Wade sucked in a breath. He never wanted this moment to end.

“Rough day, uh”, he whispered in his ear.  
“How did you know?”  
“You weren’t singing. You only stop when the day’s been really shitty, and with the way you nearly tore the door off its hinges, I had little doubts left. Want to tell me about it?”  
“No”, Wade whispered against his skin. “Can I just… hold you like this?”  
“Of course”, Peter whispered. “But I think I have an even better proposition in mind. We both wash today’s grim away and fill the bathtub for a bath. I know you have bath bombs under the sink, so let’s use one. Okay?”  
“Sounds good”, Wade admitted.

What he hadn’t expected were Peter’s hands on his skin, gently lathering it with body-wash, the slightly callused pads – from tinkering with technology, mostly – dragging over it and making him shiver.

“Pete?” he whispered. “Pete I know you want to take things slow and if you keep this up, I’m gonna have a problem.”

Peter hummed and looked up to meet his eyes, smiling shyly.

“I… I’d like to make you feel good. I’m still having trouble but it’s getting better, and we… I just really want to make you feel good. Is it okay?”

Wade’s breath stuttered.

“More than okay”, he replied. “It’s just…”  
“Please, don’t worry about reciprocating now. I don’t think I can yet, but the shrink said…” He blushed a pretty red. “Well, that the ED thrives on performance issues, which in turn feeds the ED and it’s a vicious circle. And so I thought, maybe, I can please you some other way? And help break the circle?”  
“Baby, you’re already driving me crazy. Well, crazier than usual. It’s okay, we do as you want.”

He bent down, just enough to kiss Peter’s lips, pulling him closer as everything that wasn’t Peter disappeared. He knew more about the problem than he cared to admit – let’s just say that Project X broke many things he had painstakingly stuck back together again – but this was both an escape for him, and a confidence boost for Peter. He knew the rush of hormones from an orgasm would silence the boxes, settle the itch of his skin and quiet his mind for a while, and he really needed that.

The feel of Peter’s hand wrapping around his length made him moan roughly in his mouth, hips pushing towards him instinctively. The fingers squeezed just enough to make his blood boil, a twist at the tip making his arms shake – one snaked around Peter’s waist, the other supporting his weight against the wall. He was so pant up, and had wanted this for so long, he knew he couldn’t last – not with how fast his arousal had climbed up or the way his muscles were straining to stave off his orgasm just a bit more. The hot water was still beating on his head and nape and Peter was completely off the spray, but that didn’t seem to bother him.

“Pete, please, I’m so close”, he whispered, fingers curling into Peter’s skin, hard enough to leave a mark.  
“Yeah… You’re so good for me, Wade, so, so good for me. I love you, you know that? I love you so much. Please come for me, now.”

The plea that was also half an order was met with a garbled moan as Wade spilled over his fingers, feeling both pleased and out of his depth – he hadn’t expected an altogether very simple hand-job to feel so _intense_ , but then it was Peter and Peter had just murmured the three words and that, perhaps more than anything else, was enough to undo him.

“Thank you”, Peter said, kissing him.  
“I should be thanking you”, Wade retorted. “Peter, you have no idea what you do to me.”  
“What I know is that you’ve been hogging all the hot water and I’ve got spunk on my hand”, Peter replied, and Wade chuckled.

Wade stepped out of the water to let Peter wash, hesitantly pouring body-wash into his own hand to spread it over Peter’s arms and back, gaining in confidence when Peter leaned into his hand and relaxed. Then, he tilted Peter’s head forward to get it under the stream of water, wetting his hair, and started to wash the unruly brown mop, his lover closing his eyes and sighing as he dug his fingers into his scalp, massaging gently and undoing some of the tension there. He let Peter rinse the shampoo out while he dug around to grab a bath bomb – lavender scented and foaming intensely, he knew from experience – and they let the water run to fill the bathtub.

“Can I apply a mask for you?” Wade asked, holding out a tube for a face mask meant to relieve the skin and smooth it out. “It needs to stay on twenty minutes.”  
“Go on, have fun”, Peter replied, and Wade immediately squeezed some of the green stuff onto his fingers, attentively spreading it on Peter’s face and pushing his wet hair back.

He cut the water and half-sat, half-laid into the bathtub, holding his arms open for Peter to crawl into. Once Peter was sitting between his legs, head settled against his shoulder, he handed him the bath bomb.

“Will you do the honour, Mr. Parker?”  
“You’re a dork, you know that?” Peter said with a smile. “But you’re my dork”, he added, lowering the bomb into the water and watching as the water turned purple and started to foam.

It was a rare feat for Wade, but for once he didn’t feel the need to talk as they relaxed against each other. And if he noticed Peter’s slightly hastened breathing, or how his thighs trembled against his owns, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he let Peter lean his head backward for a kiss and wrapped an arm around him, a hand flat on his stomach, before he pulled away slightly – just enough to whisper the three words.

“I love you.”

And there was no way he could miss Peter’s soft, drawn out moan – but he just held him tighter, and said them again.

“I love you, Peter Parker. No matter the time and place, I love you.”


End file.
